He liked to scribble, to amend, to footnote, to second-guess and to correct himself. All the same, there were ruptures. The paintings started coming right at the moment that the East Village transformed from a burned-out wasteland inhabited by heroin addicts to the epicentre of a startling art boom. Insane scenes of vintage sex, moans and whispers during orgasmic porn moments and fabulous scenes when they take the load on their tits or faces. He died 13 days later.